Heart in Two Places

Anyone who ever spent time with me during college knows I love Africa. I talked about it all the time. I had maps, flags, and photos on my bedroom walls. I looked for any excuse to tell a story or share a fact. I loved my university and knew the value of finishing my degree, but it was no secret that I longed to be somewhere else.

But living here isn’t always easy, either. I get homesick. I miss late night conversations with friends. I miss family dinners and adventures with my brother. Over the past eighteen months, I’ve missed out on weddings, births, and reunions. Believe me, it’s not that I don’t want to be there – it’s that God placed me here, and it’s a little difficult to commute between continents, no matter how badly I want to sometimes.

A few days ago, I opened my email to find out my dog died. We’d had her since I was in fifth grade, and she was as loyal of a pet as anyone could ask for. I’m sad and disappointed at her passing, but I’m so grateful for the time I had with her, especially on my trip to the States a few months ago. We went on car rides and walks in the park and shared Sonic happy hour, just like old times. Saying goodbye to her at the end of my trip was hard, because I knew she didn’t understand where I was going or how long I’d be gone. But she was joyful, all the same.

This news was hard, not just because I miss my canine companion, but because it got me thinking about what else I’d missed and am going to miss out on. More weddings, births, graduations, and funerals. My heart is as much in America as it is in Swaziland.

Just as I was processing and digesting this information, I received news that a very dear friend of mine passed away. She was in her late 70’s and lived a long, full life loving Jesus and sharing kindness, but that didn’t stop my tears from flowing. I’m surrounded by awesome, supportive community out here, but they didn’t know her. They don’t know the life I shared with her. They just know I’m hurting.

And of course, all that sent me into a dramatic spiral of “what if’s”… What if something happens and I have to go home? What if I had never left home? What if I had only stayed in Swazi for one year, like I initially planned? What if I didn’t have such easy communication with home? What if I had never gone to Swaziland in the first place in 2012? What if…

It’s not easy having your heart in two places. Even if I hadn’t left home after my visit in October, I would have missed out on so much here in Swaziland. Since being back, we’ve celebrated birthdays and Thanksgiving. Two new girls have entered our home. God worked through us to reach out to dozens of women selling themselves on street corners. The young woman living with me decided to leave our ministry and return to her old life on the streets, and if I was in the U.S. instead of right here in the middle of it all, I would have been even more devastated and helpless.

This isn’t the happiest blog post I’ve ever written, but I promise there is a silver lining. I can’t be in both places. Even while I was home, it was so challenging and exhausting trying to see everyone I wanted to see, and I missed Swaziland with all my heart. I can’t do it all, but I know Who can and does. While I go to the States, I have to trust God with what’s going on in Swaziland. I have to trust Him with our girls and the ministry. While I’m in Swaziland, I have to trust Him with all my relationships back home. I have to trust His timing with all news and events, both good and bad. There’s a reason He had me here to find out about my dog and my friend instead of at home. He provides and He comforts, and if I had been at home for that news, maybe I wouldn’t have leaned on Him as much. Maybe I would have dealt with it in a completely different way. Maybe…

I’m trying hard not to live in the “what if’s” and “maybe’s.” I’m trying hard to live a life that glorifies God, no matter the sacrifice. No matter what He asks of me. Besides, the light at the tunnel makes it all worth it, and I know where I will see my friend again.

First Morning Back

I love mornings. No really, I actually do. Throughout my college career, I was usually the first one out of bed, before all my roommates. This was partially due to early classes and even earlier workout routines, but also because my introverted personality loves to bask in the stillness of the dawn.

This is my first morning back in Swaziland after a six-week furlough in the States. Over the past four months or so, I’ve become less and less of a morning person. I became tired. I love this work in Swaziland, but it’s exhausting. I had become physically and emotionally drained, more than I could ever imagine. Some nights I’d be in bed as early as 8PM, and refuse to get up no earlier than 9 or 10AM, only if I had to. Fatigue? Stress? Probably. I needed a break.

However, my trip to the States was less than restful. I was in six different states and ten different airports and countless couches and air mattresses and guest rooms during that six-week period. I had very few opportunities to be still and take in my surroundings or even spend quality time with God. I was in a world that never sat still or silent, even for a moment. I enjoyed my time back in America, but it wasn’t exactly what I anticipated or thought I needed.

It’s 5:30AM here in Swazi. I’m not awake by choice – jet lag has kept me up for the past 20 hours. But this is amazing. Outside my window are the familiar rundown buildings and purple flowered trees. There’s laundry hanging from a balcony across the street. Occasionally joyful voices speaking rapid siSwati wander past. Bird are singing, dogs are barking. All so familiar, yet so fresh at the same time.

Maybe I needed to be overwhelmed by the busyness and franticness of America in order to finally find peace and solace here.

And in the midst of it all, I know God is taking care of me. I got overly emotional at the Denver airport on my way out a few days ago, because the airline ladies checking my luggage made me remove a few pounds from each of my bags. I was annoyed. I had three suitcases stuffed mostly with items and materials for the girls and workshop, and very few things for myself. I had to remove a few bottles of body spray, which is such a small thing, but it’s one of the luxuries I was looking forward to going back to the hot and smelly African summer. I couldn’t put them in my carry-on, so I left them with my parents and pouted all through security. I was annoyed at the situation, but also with myself, for being so crabby over an insignificant material thing.

I’m not living in Africa to have an American life. My treasures are in Heaven. I have the basic clothes and toiletries that I need to survive, nothing more, nothing less. I am blessed with an amazing apartment just a few blocks from downtown and a bed to call my own. It’s simple, and I love it so much.

While I was in the States, I offered a short-term missionary to stay in my apartment for a week. It was the least I could do, since she has done so much for our ministry, and I wasn’t going to be there to use it anyway. Last night, after dinner with Kate and hugging and kissing all of the girls at the girls’ home, I settled back into my place and started unpacking. In my closet, there was a green gift bag without a note, which I later found out was a thank you gift from this missionary. Inside…a bottle of body spray, along with shower gel and lotion.

It’s such a small thing that probably seems silly to someone who’s been awake for a normal number of hours (unlike myself). But sometimes I need the small reminders like that. I am giving my life to Him, and He sees that. He knows that. He’s looking out for me. He knows exactly what I need and when I need it, whether it’s rest, companionship, strength, or body spray.

(in)dependence

I am twenty-three years old. I have not had a boyfriend since I was sixteen. Not that I haven’t wanted one; that’s just how it worked out.

Being single all through college and moving to Africa on my own a year ago has taught me so much about independence. I had a conversation with another single friend a few months ago about the view of “strong, independent women.” Is that attractive to the Godly men we want to date? We’re not damsels in distress – we’ve had to learn how to do many things on our own (including, but not limited to, basic home repairs, jumpstarting cars, and changing tires). But people need to be needed, and they need to feel that they’re needed, especially our husbands.

Even before I moved here, coworkers and acquaintances back home would notice and comment on my “independence.” Sometimes it felt like a compliment, sometimes it would sting a little. I desire a husband, but is that evident in the way I act? In the way I speak? Are guys not attracted to this type of personality?

But here’s the secret – I’m not independent. I am totally dependent on God.

And that’s how I’m able to move halfway across the planet without a man for companionship and physical protection. God’s not going to change my flat tire for me, but He gives me the patience and wisdom to learn. He grants me discernment for what is safe and where to avoid in town. He surrounds me with friends and community to love me and support me, to show me I’m never alone in this life.

My (in)dependence allows me to walk in the confidence that I am loved, valued, strong, beautiful, and important, even without a boyfriend or spouse.

It’s still not easy. I can’t be a father to our girls. I couldn’t get my refrigerator out of its Styrofoam casing. I can barely carry our hefty three-year-old. My Friday nights are usually spent with a book and early bedtime. I get far more proposals and remarks on the street than a woman walking around with her husband at her side.

I desire a husband. But my singleness does not define my value or womanhood. Only the Father can.

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Hey friends! I'm still about $700 short of my fundraising goal for 2016-2017. Interested in helping me out? Visit here!

Living Without A Salary

I’m going to be honest. Most of typical mission life does not make a lot of sense in the secular world.

My life (sometimes)

I am willingly living thousands of miles from my family, friends, and culture; so I can offer a home to children who sometimes repay me with ungratefulness, run a low-budget business to employ women who’d rather make quicker money selling their bodies, get marriage proposals from strange men daily, and do all of this without a salary.

NOT MY LIFE

Yes, it’s hard. It’s not the romantic running-around-with-elephants-on-the-savannah-and-taking-selfies-with-children life people make it out to be. Sometimes, I’ll watch an American movie about a woman with a husband and kids and a house with a yard and a dog and a well-paying-upper-middle-class career with book clubs and concerts and drive-thrus and microwaves and washing machines and Panera, and I’ll think, Why can’t I have that?

If I take God out of the equation, I could totally have that. I could be on a plane to Atlanta to Kansas City tomorrow to start a career and be on that magical path to the American dream (whatever that means these days).

I could do that. I could totally do that. But guess what? I don’t want to. And I have a feeling that if I did hop on that plane, God would figure out a way to send me right back to the mission field, whether I wanted it or not.

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”  - Frederick Buechner

Here, pursuing prostitutes, mentoring struggling women, taking care of traumatized girls, I have my deep gladness. And there's definitely a deep hunger. This is the place God calls me to. 

There is freedom in living without a salary. I'm not tied to any contracts. Yes, there are expectations and people rely on me for certain things, but I can go above and beyond without feeling shortchanged when it comes without a bonus.

I can do what I love purely because I love it, and not because I have to.

Living without a salary teaches you a lot of things. Your budget looks different. Your hobbies and free time might look a little different. Most importantly, it’s a huge lesson in humility.

Every day, I have to wake up with open arms and ask God to provide what I need for that day. Instead of signing up to take more shifts or applying for a promotion, I humble myself before the God of the universe and ask for help.

And here’s the tricky part. Choosing the mission life means humbling myself before you, my family and friends, to ask for help.

My goal for the 2016-2017 stretch is to live on $10,000, which is over $18,000 less than the average cost of living in the States. Yeah, that’s a little tough. That $10,000 will cover rent, utilities, food, gas, a trip to the States, and (hopefully) at least a little recreation. This is my fifth year in a row to fundraise, and every year so far, God has put me on that plane fully funded.

So far (as of May 15, 2016), I am halfway to that goal. If 20 people pledge $20 per month for a year, I will be fully funded.

So here I am, once again, asking for help.

If you’re interested in donating, visit here to give via PayPal. Please remember to put my name in the memo.

This life is challenging. But I love it. And it's worth it. And I need your help to do it.

Thanks again. Blessings.

Faces

In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been slacking with my blog writing.

I could make excuses. I’m busy (true). I’d rather spend my free time watching Friends (which I do). I forget (true). Writing isn’t really my thing (true).

But I think the real reason is that this place is becoming home. And words can’t really effectively describe home. At least, my words can’t. But maybe faces can.

I spend two to three days with these women every week. I’m their “boss.” I’m the scary white lady who shows them the difference between a good purse and a not-so-good purse. I discipline their kids. I distribute paychecks. I tell them off for not coming on time and for wasting glue.

I’ve shared my story with them. I’ve cried in front of them. I’ve danced in front of them. I sing in front of them. They see my good days and my bad. They know my dreams and my fears. I hate hiding behind a mask. They see my true colors, my real face, every day.

Every day, I lead Bible study. Every day, at the end of Bible study, I ask for prayer requests. Nearly every day, it’s silent.

Until today, when I asked them individually, away from the group, what to pray for. And the masks came off.

“I want peace in my home. It’s not a good place.”

“I want peace in my life. I want peace with my husband.”

“I have headaches.”

“I want to provide a home for my siblings and their kids.”

“I want to get into college. After college, I want a good job. And I want my family to stick together.”

“For the last few weeks, I’ve been angry.”

“Angry with who?”

“Angry with myself. Angry with God. I feel far away from God.”

“Pray that God will fight for me more than this.”

“What does that mean?”

“The devil is attacking me in my home.”

After ten months of praying, countless sleepless nights, hours and hours of inventory and budgeting, teaching myself how to sew bags and scarves, planning Bible studies and opening up my soul to them, finally, the fruit shows.

These faces are the real story of why I came, why I’m here, and why I’m staying.